


go and sneak us through the rivers

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [32]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, M/M, POV Lance (Voltron), guess who listened to apocalypse a bunch while writing this, smooches, that’s right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 02:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: He doesn’t have the words for it, yet.





	go and sneak us through the rivers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anon who requested a “passionate kiss.”
> 
> klance in their dorm days, the early days, the nervous days.

    They had kissed, before and a lot. Lance knew, by now, how it felt to be kissed breathless against their door, and he knew how it felt to have Keith skirt his fingertips along the little strip of skin under the hem of Lance’s shirts. He knew, even, how it felt to push Keith back against his bed so his hair looked wild against the sheets and so his smile was extra wide while he gripped Lance’s arms and all but dragged him that little bit closer.

    It was enough. It was more than enough. Except when it wasn’t.

    Except when Lance couldn’t keep his eyes off Keith, off the shape of his shoulders or the line of his back or the curve of his lips and the steadiness of his hands.

    Lance had been dreaming about Keith, recently. He’d wake in the middle of the night with his heart in his throat and his hands clutching his bed sheets and Keith snoring away across the room.

    Living with his boyfriend was driving him crazy.

    It was making his skin tingle, to be so close and to maintain a distance they hadn’t discussed—yet.

    Keith in the morning—distracting.

    Keith hunched over his desk—distracting.

    Keith when he crouched down to check on Red, and Keith when he sat on his bed and put on his socks and Keith when said Lance’s name when they were in the middle of the lounge and surrounded by all their floormates—distracting.

    Yes, it was making his skin tingle. It was making something under his ribs vibrate and it, sometimes, turned his knees to jelly and his lungs to ash.

    Lance rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow and chewing idly at the corner of it. Keith was at his desk, typing away and leaning slightly to the side like he did when he was thinking hard about something. He had a highlighter behind his ear and a cold cup of coffee nearby and his hair was tucked back into a messy ponytail that was starting to drive Lance—

    Crazy.

    Lance rolled onto his back and tugged the pillowcase from his teeth and stared up at the ceiling and frowned. Of course Keith couldn’t just be satisfied with being stupidly hot: he had to be all Keith-like and handsome with his smiles and the way he said Lance’s name and was it crazy? just to want Keith to say his name, right then? just to want to lean over the edge of the bed and say please, Keith?

    Lance thought about punching his pillow.

    He thought about brushing his teeth, and counting the grimy stairs of their building, and he thought about that time he and Hunk had had the stomach flu together, and he thought about Keith sabotaging his shampoo, and he thought about chewing gum, and always—always—things circled back to Keith.

    At his desk, Keith sighed. Maybe groaned. His chair squeaked, like he was leaning back and cursing the heavens.

And the tingle on Lance’s skin was quickly becoming a burn. His breaths weren’t his own, anymore, and his hands were sweaty as he clutched the pillow and he knew that even wrapping himself around Keith wouldn’t be enough.

“Keith,” Lance said to the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

He could say it, if he wanted to (god did he want to): please, Keith.

“Nothing,” Lance mumbled and squished his pillow to his face.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

Everything!

Everything. Everything that made their tiny room feel huge and overwhelmingly claustrophobic at the same time. Keith was there, always there, just within arms’ reach and existing like a warmth in a tiny space that was just starting to feel something like home.

He didn’t hear Keith get up, not over the roaring in his ears, and didn’t realize how small their space had really become until Keith was tugging the pillow out of his hands.

“Hey!” Lance choked out, slapping his empty hands immediately to his throat like he could keep his heart from crawling out.

Keith tossed the pillow over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a flump.

“Gross,” Lance said, and swallowed.

And Keith—handsome, exhausted Keith, with his wild hair and his long fingers and that chin that was delicate and profoundly masculine all at once and in a way Lance had never considered—and Keith said: “What’s up?”

And Lance giggled before he could stop himself.

“What?” Keith said, smiling even through his amused confusion. “What are you doing?”

Thinking about you, Lance thought about saying. Instead he shook his head and tried to push a little further against his mattress.

“Are you sick?” Keith asked.

“Yes,” Lance muttered.

Keith’s smile faltered and he sat at the edge of the bed and that was almost too much, for Lance. He loved it when Keith did this, loved it when he came close but stayed far, loved it when he just sat by Lance like it was easy and natural because it was.

“You look flushed,” Keith said. “What are you feeling?”

“Hot.”

“Are you feverish?”

Yes! “No.”

“Lance,” Keith started, and Lance was gone.

Gone. His brain turned to mush and fireworks all at once, and his skin heating like his muscles were trying to melt, and his lips parting and his breath catching. He sat up, quick enough to startle Keith and make his eyes go wide and a sound like the beginning of a question leaving him.

“Lance,” Keith said again.

And instead of collapsing into a pile of sighs and twitchy limbs on the bed, Lance seized the front of Keith’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss.

Less a kiss, more a collision, but delicious and warm all the same and enough to make Lance’s shoulders slump and his hands tighten in Keith’s shirt. Keith fixed the angle, his hands hot on Lance’s elbows, and the shift from collision to something deep and forceful made Lance see stars—stars! on his eyelids; stars! in the sky; stars! bursting into life in his chest and his stomach and all the way down to his toes.

He groaned, like they’d been kissing for hours instead of seconds, and he wondered, briefly, if he had reached the limit of what he could take. Keith wasn’t his first, Keith wasn’t the first person he’d ever wanted to every cell in his body, but Keith was—

Something opening, and bursting, and growing, somewhere both inside and out of Lance. Something caught solid and heated between them, that felt like desperation and nothing Lance could put a name to.

They parted.

Keith breathed a trio of puffed breaths against Lance’s lips and Lance shivered and couldn’t even summon the brain power to feel embarrassed. “Lance,” Keith mumbled, close enough that Lance thought he could feel the vibrations of his own name.

“That’s me,” Lance gasped. “That’s my name. I know my name. So how do you make it sound so—” He broke off with a disgruntled, throaty sound that only partly sounded like him.

It tore its way out of him, made him shiver again.

“Lance,” Keith said again, and Lance loved the broken, high sound of his voice and he loved the little whisper at the back of his head that said: you did this, you did this together.

Lance pulled Keith back in and then down and they fell back against the bed together, Keith becoming a wonderful weight on top of him and when Keith pulled back just long enough to whisper his name again, Lance’s lips felt wet and swollen and hot.

Just—hot.

“I’m going crazy,” Lance tried to say but Keith caught the words and swallowed them down and turned them into a groan that was louder and longer than Lance had ever been.

He loved the way Keith scrambled onto the bed, shoes and wild hair and stuttered breaths and all, and he loved how easy it was to wind his arms around Keith and pull him closer until they were pressed together and Lance could feel the way Keith seemed to try to curve into him and tangle their legs.

He loved the feel of Keith’s skin under his hands, and the give of his t-shirt when Lance slid it up to feel the bump of Keith’s spine.

He loved it, all of it, the press and the pressure and the heat, like it was brand new and like he had never done exactly this before.

And maybe he hadn’t, not like this.

He keened when Keith pulled away, and maybe he hadn’t known what keening was until he was doing it, all loud and needy and paired with the flutter of his voice: “Keith.”

Keith sighed and whispered something Lance couldn’t catch, and he nosed at Lance’s jaw and pressed wet kisses to the line of his throat. Lance wanted, suddenly, to be vulnerable, exposed; somewhere in between safe and dangerous, somewhere Keith could crowd impossibly close and Lance could marvel at the jut of his shoulder blades and the taste of his skin.

“Keith,” he said again and he dragged his fingers against Keith’s back and pressed a shaky kiss to Keith’s temple.

And Keith shivered in his arms, gasped against his neck, and the world just kept going, and going, and going around them—

Keith scrambled back with a puff of breath that sounded a little like a shout. Irritation roared along Lance’s spine and he opened his eyes with a complaint on his lips and then froze.

Keith, on his knees and looking down at him.

The warmth of where their legs pressed together, and the heat at Lance’s collar, and the impressive red to Keith’s cheeks.

The heave of Keith’s chest, and the way he wiped his mouth.

Lance thought he’d faint. Collapse. Melt away into nothing. It would feel good. It would feel amazing.

He swallowed and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Keith?” he tried, his voice sounding alien and small.

Keith gaped at him and said nothing.

“What?” He had the urge to reach for Keith, drag him back down and push his fingers through Keith’s hair and smooth his rumpled shirt. He’d toss the hair elastic away and he’d pepper Keith’s face with kisses and, maybe, he’d lick the line of Keith’s jaw just to taste the salt of his skin.

Lance’s fingers twitched.

Keith seemed to hold his breath for a moment, and then: “I’m going to go outside.”

“What?”

“Outside,” Keith said again, scrambling off the bed and smoothing down his shirt. “I’m going to—to—stick my head in a snowbank.” He glanced back at Lance.

Lance licked his lips.

“A big snowbank,” Keith continued in a mutter and dashed away.

A snowbank, Lance thought. And then, too late, he yelled to the slammed door: “Put on a coat!”

Alone, the room still felt stifling and hot and like the walls were trying to box him in. His breaths sounded loud, unnatural.

Lance rolled off his bed and stood on his jellied legs and pushed his hands through his hair. Would anyone see it on him, if he went into the hall? Did he have Keith all of his skin, Keith’s voice in his throat?

He straightened his clothes, rolled his shoulders, and sat back down on his bed, He wiggled his toes.

Red emerged and sniffed at the air and then shuffled back into her cave. It would have been nice to hold her, then, just to feel her little, warm, fluffy body in his hands. But he didn’t trust that he’d be able to hold her steady and safe with the shivers that still ran through him, so Lance left her.

He looked at his pillow, tossed haphazardly by Keith’s bed. He looked at Keith’s sheets, half-made and rumpled like Keith had taken a nap earlier.

They’d done more than this. And then—they’d never done anything like this.

What was different, Lance wondered.

His brain replied with static, so he sighed and he pushed himself back to his feet. He turned off all the lights and he listened to a muffled conversation next door and he closed the curtains against what was left of the late-evening light, and he scrambled into Keith’s bed and pulled Keith’s blankets over his head and snuggled down against Keith’s sheets and pressed his cheek to Keith’s pillow, and he breathed.

He woke, later, to Keith slipping into the skinny little bed next to him. He counted Keith’s breaths, he caught Keith’s sigh and buried it deep inside him, and he smiled when Keith shuffled up against him and wound an arm over Lance.

“I’m back,” Keith said against his neck.

Lance pressed his smile against the pillow, touched his fingertips to the wall. He shivered with Keith’s next breath and replied: “Good.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> got the music in you baby tell me why


End file.
